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i^rming for Fun 

—OR— 


BACK-YARD GRANGERS. 




By BBICKTOB. 



COLLIN & SMALL, PUBLISHERS, 113 FULTON ST. 


1874. 


Entered according to Act of Congresa, in the year 1874, by 
^ COLLIN A SMALL, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, 


Press ov Wynkoop & Hallbmbbos, 
313 Fulton Street, N. T. 


Farming for Fun; 

OR, 

BACK-YAE,D GHANGEHS. 


Mr. Timotliy Budd lives in New 
York, was born in New York, 
brought up in New York, and ex- 
pects to live and die in New York. 

His wife, Melinda, has, and prob- 
ably will have, about the same his- 
tory. 

They have no children, are mod- 
erately well off, own the house they 
live in, and there is no reason out- 
side of their own making why they 
should not be as contented as man 
and wife generally are. 

Yes, Budd owns his own house. 
He paid rent, saved his money, and 
bought the establishment a year 
ago. How his neighbors envy him ! 
Poor fools ! 

About the time he completed 
his purchase he heard about the 
Grangers, or the Patrons of Hus- 
bandry, and he at once began to 




4 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


take a great interest in tliem, now that lie had a little farm of 
his own. 

(The reader might as well N. B. that this farm of Budd’s 
consisted wholly of a back yard, 20 feet by 70.) 

At length a Grange was instituted in Brooklyn, and Budd 
made haste to become a member of it, that he might be all 
ready, when spring opened, to commence business understand- 
ingly. 

His wife was not altogether in favor of his farming notions, 
for she had set her heart upon making a flower garden of their, 
back yard, and with great reluctance she consented to allow 
him one-half of it to agriculturalize. But Budd inwardly felt 
his advantage, and smiled as he calculated how sorry she would 
be in the fall, when he harvested his crops, and she had nothing 
to show for her labor but a few dried bushes and faded flowers. 
Peace-loving man ! he felt happy over it. 

But Timothy Budd was in earnest. He became a regular 
Granger (city make) and drank deep at the fountain of agri- 
culture. His farm was not large, but he resolved to make the 
most of it, and thereby set an example for the rest of the world. 

The first thing to do was to procure the necessary implements 
for tilling the soil. The snow had all melted, yet March was 
pouting because it still had to wear an overcoat. However, 
Budd resolved to be in readiness when the frost was out of the 
ground. So he went to an agricultural store for a hoe and 
spade. 

“ Hoe and spade, eh ? Here are our various patterns,” re- 
plied the proprietor, with a bland smile. “ Own a farm near 
here., sir ?” 

“ Yes, here in the city,” replied Budd, in an abstracted way, 
as he examined the tools. 

“ In the city, eh ? Why, how is that ?” 

“West Thirty-fourth street.” 


KAKMING I'OK FUN. 


5 


“ Goodnefis ! Not a large one, I guess.” 

“ No ; I am only going to farm a little in my back yard for 
amusement.” 

“ Ob ! ab ! excellent, sir, excellent ; just wbat every man should 
do — miniature farming. "Would do it myself, only I live on a 
French flat. I was brought up on a farm, my dear sir, and I 
know exactly what you require. In addition to a hoe and 
shovel, you want two or three rakes of different sizes, two 
smaller sizes of hoes, a lawn-mower, a scythe, pruning-hooks 
and shears, and — and — well, you can commence with these.” 

“ Oh, I can, eh ? Well, all light. Show me specimens.” 

“ Certainly ; and when you get ready to plant come to me for 
the seeds, and you will do a sensible thing Got the best lot 
of seeds in the known world. I’m a Granger, I am.” 

“ What is that you say, a Granger ?” asked Budd, turning 
suddenly and confronting the storekeeper. 

“To be sure I am; one of the originals ; made out West two 
or three years ago.” 

“ My dear sir, give me your hand ; I am glad to know you. 
I am a Granger myself,” said Budd, shaking hands ivith great 
earnestness. “Made over in Brooklyn.” 

“ Good enough, my dear sir ; and your name is — ” 

“Budd, Timothy Budd.” 

“ Shake again, brother Budd, or, rather. Farmer Budd. Great 
institution. Suppose you intend to exemplify the beauties of 
agriculture ?” 

“Yes, that’s my idea exactly.” 

“As it is your duty also. Now, then, you can, of course, 
trust me for advice in everything. Here are the tools you re- 
quire to make a start with. I’ll make out a bill and send them 
right to your house.” 

“All right ; I shall depend upon you much.” 

“And you won’t make any mistake. By the way, you will 


6 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


need a fertilizer of some kind. Suppose I send you up a half 
barrel of plaster ? best thing to urge vegetation ever discovered ; 
actually tickles the roots and makes the foliage laugh and grow 
fat.” 

“Indeed; Avell, send me some of it.” 

“ All right. Of course, you will want to mix a little stable 
manure with it. John, make out a bill,” he said, handing the 
memorandum to his clerk. 

Budd paid the bill, about seventy-five dollars, and started to 
his place of business, happy in the thought that he had found 
a friend and counsellor. 

When the articles arrived at Budd’s house his wife was 
slightly taken aback. And well she might have been, for the 
servant girl brought an armful of implements into the sitting 
room, and informed her that there was a plow down at the 
basement door that she could not lift, to save her. 



The different implements that Me. Budd sent home to 

WORK HIS BACK- YARD FARM WITH, 


FAEMUfG FOB FUN. 7 

“ Mercy !” exclaimed Mrs. Budd ; “ is the man crazy ? Why, 
I should think he owned a hundred-arce farm.” 

“ Faith, an’ p’raps he’s goin’ ter put dirt on the roof of the 
house an’ cultivate it,” suggested Biddy. 

'' Goodness only knows ! Well, take the tools out into the 
back yard.” 

“ Be gob, but I think Misther Budd nas worms on the brain,” 
muttered Biddy, as she went away. 

With much anxiety, Mrs. Budd awaited the return of her 
Granger husband ; and when he came hurriedly in and inquired 
if his implements had been delivered, she laughed in his face in 
spite of herself. 

“ Why, what is the matter, Melinda V he asked, in innocent 
surprise. 

“ What is the matter with you, Timothy Budd 

“ Nothing ; only I am going to farming a little.” 

“ I should say you were. Where is your farm ?” 

“ Why, our back yard, Melinda.” 

Again she laughed. 

“ Is it so very funny, my dear ?” 

‘‘Yes, it is the funniest thing I ever heard. But you must 
remember that I have arranged to have at least one-half of the 
yard for a flower garaen.” 

“Yes, my dear.” 

“And that I am going to have some fancy Dreed of chickens ?” 

“Yes, Melinda.” 

“And a little lawn ?” 

“Yes, my love; I have bought a mower.” 

“ But what is left for you to cultivate ?” 

“ Oh, there is ample room for us both, and we shall be so 
happy working together on our little farm.” 

“ I suppose so, Timothy,” she sighed ; and when he looked 
up she laughed again, and Budd began to think she was mak- 
ing sport of him. 


8 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


But in truth Mrs. Budd was quite as esthusiastic regarding 
the back yard as her husband was. Of course, his new move 
surprised her, for she had laid out every inch of the ground for 
something or other, but rather than have a burr between them 
she concluded to let him have half. 

“ But tell me, Tim, what on earth are you going to do with 
all these implements ?” she asked. 

Why, cultivate the ground like a Granger, to be sure.” 

‘‘Well, but how about that plow ?” 

“ That is to turn the virgin soil into furrows.” 

“ How do you manage it, dear ?” 

“ Why, hitch a yoke of oxen to it ; haven’t you ever seen 
farmers plow ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; but how are you going to get the oxen into the 
back yard, my love ? 

Budd scratched his head, and looked as though he had just 
lost something. Mrs. B. laughed so heartily that her discom- 
fited husband got red in the face and turned away. 

“ Haven’t you made a mistake, ducky ?” 

“Anyhow, the man I bought ’em of said he knew exactly 
what I wanted, and — well, I suppose he sent it.” 

“ He must have taken you for a countryman.” 

“ Oh, well, he will take it back again when I tell him how it 
is,” and with a face slightly elongated he started down stairs 
towards his farm. 

Taking off his coat, he seized a spade and began to jab around 
in the mould. The parties who had lived there before him had 
evidently used the back yard for a play-ground, for it was as 
hard as the sidewalk. But Budd was in earnest, and the soil 
had to be turned. So he threw his whole weight upon the 
spade with the object of forcing it into the ground. 

The result was that Budd stopped suddenly and sat down to 
think, and, by the bye, he thought he heard Biddy laughing in 


FARMING FOB FTJN. 


9 


the kitchen at the ridiculous figure he was cutting, and he 
thought, with an equal amount of certainty, that he had ruined 
the seat of his pants, and that the eyes of the neighbors were 
upon him. 

He rose slowly to his feet, and backed into the house for a 
change of garments, while Biddy burst her corsets from top to 
bottom laughing over her master’s mishap. Cruel creature ! to 


Mb. Budd spreads his first shovel full of manure on the 



SITTING-ROOM FLOOR. 


10 


FAKMTIfG FOR FUIT 


laugli at a man with such an expression of anguish on his face. 

Encased in a pair of old pants, Budd again went for that 
down-trodden earth, but it refused to yield. Then he got dis- 
couraged, and consulted with a neighbor, Avho suggested dril- 
ling and blasting. Still another recommended him to put his 
farm to soak, but as this proposition seemed to have a certain 
amount of irony in it, Budd voted him an uneducated old fool, 
and took the advice of a third party, and began operations with 
a pick-axe. 

This was a comparative success, and after sweating over it 
for a day or two he finally got it chipped up to quite an extent. 
Then he mixed in the plaster and stirred it up with the earth, 
while his wife kept stirring him up about encroaching on her 
part of the farm. 

A week of preparation made quite a change in that crusty 
back-yard, and finally Budd began to plant the various kinds of 
seeds with which his brother Granger, the store-keeper, had 
furnished him. Mrs. Budd also spent the most of her time in 
the improvised garden, sowing all kinds of flower seeds, and 
occasionally tucking in a few among the hills of her husband’s 
planting and roots. Just to surprise him. 

Budd was never so happy in his life. He planted something 
eveiy day ; and when he felt sure his wife was not looking he 
would tuck a potato or a few squash seeds into her flower beds. 
Just for a surprise, you know. But he neglected to mark his 
hills, and so kept right on planting until things began to come 
up and until he had hidden seed enough to plant a ten-acre 
farm. 

One day he had a load of manure dropped in front of his 
house, and he set to work to carry it through the house into the 
yard. The entry was dark, and by coming through it he man- 
aged to stub his toe, and spread the first shovel full of the fra- 
grant article upon the sitting-room carpet. 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


11 



Mr. Budd gets slightly confused as to which are shoots 

AND WHICH ARE WEEDS, AND SO HE EMPLOYS A MAGNIFYING-GLASS 
TO ASCERTAIN. 


“ Why, Timothy Budd !” exclaimed his wife. 

Budd looked sorry, but without saying a word he began to 
make amends for what he had done. But he didn’t have very 
good luck that day anyway, for about half of his fertilizer was 
scattered through the house, causing Biddy to howl and his 
wife to cry. 



12 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


However, Budd was one of those men who keep at a thing 
and conquer by steady work ; so in time he got all this richness 
spread over his garden, and then he fell back awhile and re* 
solved to let nature have a chance. 

But nature didn’t appear to be working in back yards much, 
or^ at least she wasn’t very particular, for quite as many weeds 
came up as anything else. In fact, Budd was obliged to go to 
the expense of buying a powerful magnifying glass in order to 
tell the young and backward sprouts from the weeds, which 
were not so backward. 

This gardening occupied the most of his time, and he was 
actually neglecting his business through his anxiety. Especialy 
was this the case after things “ began to come up,” and Budd, 
magnifying glass in hand, was seen at early morn and at dewy 
eve, creeping about on his hands and knees, examining the 
progress and trying to determine the nature of his coming crop. 

Mrs. Budd also entered into the spirit of scattering the germs 
of the beautiful, as before stated ; and after she had scattered 
all she could find room for in both back and front yards, she 
began to construct widow-sill gardens. Every window on the 
sunny side of the house, which happened to be the back side, 
was filled Avith all sorts of pots, boxes, vases, and everything 
that would hold a bit of earth and water she improvised for 
additions to her window flower-gardens. 

O 

One Avindow received more attention than the others, and 
from the sill thereof she had a shelf constructed upon Avhich 
she heaped a specimen of almost everything. She loved to stand 
in this AvindoAV, and while puttering among her flowers, to ob- 
ser\'e the envy of her neighbors. 

One day she bought a new and peculiar pecies of Central 
American Cactus (in general appearance it was enough like a 
cat to be called a cat-cus,) and with great pride she added it to 
the collection on this particular shelf. 


FAKMING FOB FUN. 


13 


But this shelf had all it wanted. It broke down, and fell 
down. It did worse ; it knocked her husband down, as he 
chanced to be at work directly underneath it. 

Perhaps you may think this a laughable affair. Maybe it is 
for you, but poor Budd failed to see a laughable thing about it. 
Instead of getting up and holding his sides with laughter, he 
struggled to his feet and howled with pain. 



Mbs. Budd’s window-sill fabm bbeaks away and pbecipitates 

ITSELF upon HEB HUSBAND BELOW. 



14 


FARMING FOB FUN. 



Mr. Budd procures a huge syringe and goes for the early 

WORM ON Ills VINES, BUT AS THERE HAPPENS TO BE A HOLE IN 

THE FENCE, AND THE BlDDY IN THE NEXT YARD HAPPENS TO BE 

HANGING UP CLOTHES DIRECTLY IN RANGE (ScC next page.) 

His wife ran down to see if her cactus was injured or any of 
her plants destroyed. 

“Are my darling plants hurt ?” she ashed, anxiously. 

“Not so much as your darling husband is,” he replied, with 
some bitterness. 

“ Oh, pshaw !” was her only reply, as she proceeded to gather 
up the fruits of the fall. 

This indifference produced a coldness between them that 
lasted for (juite a while, but each kept up their farming. 



FARMING FOB FUN. 


15 


Budd was rejoiced be- 
yond measure at tbe pros- 
pect before him. Every 
square inch of his territory 
had something on it. His 
grape-vines grew finely, 
only they seemed to be 
troubled with worms, as 
also were his trees,' two of 
which were of good size, 
and probably planted five 
or six years before. 

This troubled him as 
much as if he had had the 
worms himself, and he be- 
gan to call on his neighbors 
who had gardens, to learn 
how they treated their 
worms, and also to read 
all the agricultural papers 
She gets a generous dose of the he could get hold of, in 
SOAP-SUDS, AND HOWLS BLOODY MUR- Order to learn what he 
DEB. should do. 

Finally, he concluded to take the advice of a friend who had 
emancipated his trees. This advice was, to procure a huge 
syringe, and treat his vines every morning to a generous bath 
of strong soap-suds. Budd had read of this before, and he felt 
that he just had a soft thing on those worms. 

So one morning he got a tub full of suds and began opera- 
tions. The syringe Avas large and had a wonderful squirt. 

“ Ha, ha !” quoth he ; “ the early bird getteth the worm.” 

Just at that moment he brought his machine to bear upon a 
knot-hole in the fence, and gave a strong squirt of strong soap- 



16 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


suds to tte Biddy of his next-door neighbor, Avho happened to 
be working in range. The result may be imagined. That 
Biddy was used to soap-suds, but not to having it in her eyes 
in large quantities. So she howled, and danced and shouted 
bloody murder ; and when Budd got up on a step-ladder to look 
over to see what he had done, she made a “ lep ” for him and 
knocked him over backwards sprawling. 

Nor was she satisfied with that. She gathered up a few 
bricks, pieces of coal, and getting upon another step-ladder she 
bombarded the poor farmer until he was nearly dead, and 
gladly took shelter in the kitchen. 

Bad luck ter yees, yer ondacint spalpeen ye ! I’ll tache yer 
how ter ’buse a dacint gurl, so I will,” she yelled, still looking 
over the fence and shaking her fist in the direction of the refuge 
he had taken. 

“ Come out here, yer dirty blackguard, an’ I’ll give yer another 
taste of me. Whoop ! Sind out yer ould woman, ’till I’d put 
a head on her, too. Whoop ! Sind out yer gurl, the bloody 
Far Down ! ’ she yelled. 

There was where she made a mistake, for there was a Greek 
to meet a Greek, and when she called aloud for satisfaction, 
and denounced Budd’s servant as a “ bloody Far Down,” that 
rollicking creature ran out and gave her battle, pulling her over 
the fence and rolling her over Budd’s garden, until the police 
were called in and. took them both away. 

All this just for a little soap-suds ! 

It was nearly a week before Budd recovered from the effects 
of that soap-suds squirt. But he had an elastic nature, and 
gradually ventured forth to his farm work again. 

In the meantime the grass upon Mrs. Budd’s little lawn had 
grown luxuriously. Mrs. Budd said, “ The tresses of our lovely 
lawn are too long for this hot weather, my love, don’t you 
think so?” 


FARMING- FOR FUN. 


It 



“Yes, dear, they should be clipped ; I’ll be the barber,” re- 
olied Budd, smiling under his mustache. 

“ How will you do it, ducky ?” 

“ With my little mowing-machine, aovey.” 

“ Let me see you work it, ducky.” 

“ I will do so, dovey.” 



18 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


So Budd trotted out his lawn mower, and began to fool 
around with it. 

“ What a triumph of art ! What a glorious thing it is to be 
a working Granger,” chirped Budd, as he shoved his machine 
through the grass. 

“Yes, ducky, but — Ho ! ho ! hold on, Tim !” shouted Mrs. B., 
darting towards him. “ Hold on, for heaven’s sake ! you have 
caught Fido in your machine.” 

“ Lord ! so I have ; I thought it was working kinder hard,” 
replied Budd. 

“ Oh, you careless wretch ! you unfeeling brute ! There is 
poor Fido’s head all mowed olf.” 

“ So it is. Guess he don’t wan’t any more,” said Budd, with 
ghastly grin. 

“Wretch ! wretch! and can you make a pun in the face of 
my misery ?” moaned his wife. 

“ How could I help it ? The little fool got in my way,” 
snarled Budd. 

“ Why, the little darling was playing with it and to think 
you should be so stupid..” 

“And to think that he should daub my mower in such a way .” 

“ To think that I am married to such an idiot !” moaned Mrs. 
Budd, as she contemplated the decapitated poodle prone upon 
the earth. 

“ Well, my love, we can bury him at the root of our grape- 
vine and enjoy him hereafter.” 

“ Wretch! I wish I could bury you there,” she hissed as she 
gathered up her skirts and started for the house. 

“Guess she is mad about something,” mused Budd, as he 
went for his spade. “ Poor Fido ! I wonder if he had an idea 
that he could get his hair cropped when he Jumped into that 
machine ?” 

Fido was laid tenderly at the roots of the grape-vine, and 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


I'J 


Mrs. Budd cried imtil her eyes 
were red, and then went to see 
her ma. Women always go 
to see their ma whenever their 
husbands mar their pleasures. 

Budd tried to coax her to 
come back home, but she would 
not be coaxed. She had not 
had her pout out yet So 
Budd got his back up, and took 
up his quarters at the Astor 
House for a week or two, or 
until such time as his wife 
should consent to return. 

At the end of two weeks she 
sent for him, asking him how 
much longer he was going to 
make a fool of himself. So he 
went to her ma’s house and 
took her home again, and they 
made up and buried the hatch- 
et between them as deep as 
Fido had been hidden, and he 
bought her an elegant purp to 
fill the aching void in her 
heart. 



Alarm of Mr. Budd on his re- 
turn AT BEHOLDING THE GROWTH 
OF HIS ASPARAGUS. 


But what was Budd’s surprise on going into his neglected 
garden again. The asparagus had improved the time and had 
grown nearly to the top of the house, while the worms had 
eaten nearly every leaf off his vines and trees. He sighed and 
cussed that day. He cut the ambitious plants, and then went 
for the ambitious worms. 

In this he had some trouble. He concluded not to use his 


20 


farmi:n*g fob fln. 


squirt-gun any more, for lie still remembered the Biddy of tbe 
next yard. So be consulted bis friends and brother Grangers 
as to wbat be should do. 

They told him to whitewash his trees, and he attempted to do 
so, whitening the leaves, branches and trunks. It was a terrible 
job, and long before he got through the ground was as white as 
in mid-mnter. 

Before he got half done, but not before he got half tired, 
Budd could hear the neighbors laughing at him, and he felt sad 
at their ignorance regarding worms and farming generally. 

But the neighbors kept out of sight behind the blinds of their 
windows, where they laughed to their hearts' content, while the 
servants indulged in pointed comments, equivocal in their na- 
tures. 

His particular enemy, the next-yard Biddy, went for him like 
a terrier for a flea. 

“ Hout ! ye blackguard ! Have yees the wurms agin ?” said 
she, coming out on the back stoop. 

Budd made no reiily. 

“Och ! a nate lookin’ whitewasher ye are, sure. Faith, bow’d 
yer like to whitewash the Park ?” 

This was rubbing it in, and Budd spoke : 

“ Do you wish to see our girl again ?” 

“ Faith, I do. I’d sa yer gurl, an’ yer ould woman an’ yer- 
silf, be gob ! Whoop ! Come on !” 

Budd became disgusted and retired, while Biddy protruded 
her tongue and gyrated her fingers with her thumb resting on 
her nose. 

These were only a few of the annoyances which this gallant 
Granger had to put up with. He felt that he was suffering 
nobly for a cause, and so he held his peace and struggled on. 

But the worms increased in size and numbers to such an ex- 
tent that Budd began to fear that they would rxiin his garden 
and pull up his trees by the roots. 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


21 



Budb hears the neighbors laughing at his whitewashing 

PERFORMANCES, AND HE SIGHS FOR THEIR IGNORANCE. 

His next move was to buy a saw, and cut off tbe limbs where- 
on these worms had taken lodgment, and again the neighbors 
laughed, and again did that provoking next-door Biddy rail at 
and make fun of him. But Budd was made of the right mate- 
rial, and by constant and determined application he at last 
conquered the worms, and his garden began to bloom again. 

But things were somewhat mixed in his garden. Mrs. Budd, 
it vdll be remembered, planted flower-seeds among her husband’s 
garden truck, and he, to surprise her, tucked in a pototoj a ker- 
nel of corn, or a few onions, among her flowers. 


22 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


These friendly plantings now began to show themselves forth 
and to tangle slightly. Thus, in her flower bed, embracing a 
sample of everything, a hill of carrots, a hill of potatoes, a lot 
of onions, some cabbages and some caulliflowers, began to 
show up. 

Among Budd’s vegetables began to show samples of morning- 
glories, tube-roses, gladiolas, Indian shot, four-o’clocks, pan- 
sies, A;c., &c. 

This was not so pleasant a surprise to Budd as it might have 
been, for there was no room for his vegetables, to say nothing 
of the prospect of hoeing and cultivating. Budd looked serious 
and scratched the rear end of his head, while his wife laughed 
and pretended to be delighted at the prospect. 

“ Melinda, I fear we shall have to weed out something here,” 
said he. 

“Yes; suppose we pull up your vegetables?” said his wife, 
archly. 

“What?” 

“ Why, always destroy the poorest.” 

“ Melinda, you must be crazy.” 

“Not at all ; you must see by this time that your things will 
come to nothing, and we may as well pull them up and let my 
beautiful flowers have a chance.” 

“ Melinda, I fear you wish to hurt my feelings.” * 

“No ; all I want is to destroy all these nasty vegetables.” 

“ Melinda, you are cruel.” 

“No; they won’t mind it.” 

“ But my feelings ?” 

“You won’t feel it.” 

“Oh, Melinda!” 

’ “You know that your planting won’t come to anything; it 
naverMld, Timothy.” 

“ It isn’t my fault, Melinda.” 


FAKMma FOR FUN. 


23 



Budd’s last RBSOET to get EtD OF ■WORMS ON HIS TREES. 


“ Perliaps you esteem it tlie fault of tlie soil ?” 

“ Don’t let us "wrangle, Melinda. I shall have a fine crop of 
vegetables if you will only let me remove your useless flowers.” 

“Useless, indeed ! Do you know^he value of the beautiful, 
Mr. Budd ?” 

“Didn’t I marry you on that account?” 

“Let me remove your garden sass?” 

“Allow me to squelch your posies ?” 

“No !” 

“ Then I -will be equally obstinate.” 

“All right. What then ?” 

“ Let us compromise.” 

“ In what way ?” ^ 

•“ Let things stand.” 


24 


FAKMING FOR FUN. 



DEN TO ASCERTAIN WHAT 
THE TROUBLE WAS. (What 
it was is shown in the next 
illustration.) 


“They will come to nothing, 

Mr. Budd.” 

“Melinda, I have always done 
my best for you.” 

“Well, let things stand just as 
they are. I can put up with it if 
you can. But I am certain that 
all you raise could be bought for 
fifty cents.” 

“ I will convince you of your The above is not “the man in 
error, Mrs. Budd.” the moon,” hut Mr. Budd 

“Eveiything will wilt before looking out into his gar- 
harvest.” 

“Then your fiowers will sap 
them.” 

This wrangle ended in a com- 
promise to allow things to take their own course. 

But there were other troubles besides worms and mixed va- 
rieties. All the cats in the neighborhood appeared to congre- 
gate in his back yard for gymnastic exercise and musical re- 
hearsals. 

Budd said he was fully convinced that feline nature never 
fully develops except in a flower-garden. When compelled to 
promenade on fence-tops and upon wood-sheds their music is less 
sjiirited and their fighting comparatively tame, but with a good 
open garden, with flowers and shrubbery for them to play in 
and around, then they not only gather in greater numbers, but 
their performances attract more general attention from the 
neighbors. 

The first occurrence of the kind, the first night of the oper- 
atic season, the music and confusion awakened and alarmed 
Mrs. Budd, who at once proceeded to punch her spouse in the ribs. 

“ Timothy Budd, I’m sure the devil is loose in our back yard.” 


FARMING FOR FTTN. 


25 


“ Ha ! what ? Devil ?” lie stammered, rising up and looking 
confusedly around. 

“ Don’t you hear ?” 

“ Cats !” was his laconic reply, 

“And like as not they will break into my chicken -coop and 
destroy all of my little feathered darlings. Get up and drive 
them away.” 

Timothy grunted and turned out upon the floor. Proceeding 
to the window, he threw open the shutters and looked down 
upon his garden. What a sight met his gaze ! 

About twenty cats were engaged in a rough-and-touble fight 
on his strawberry bed, while the windows of half a dozen houses 
in the immediate neighborhood were open, and protruded heads 
were yelling “ scat !” and indignant arms were hurling boots. 



Scene in Budd’s garden at night. Boots, bottles, etc., sent 

IN BT INDIGNANT NEIGHBORS. 


26 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


bottles, blacking-brusbes, cakes of 
soap, articles of ckamber crockery- 
ware, etc., etc. into tkeir midst, and 
breaking down whatever the cats 
failed to demolish. 

“ Hold on !” shouted Budd. 

“Kill those cussed cats !” yelled 
somebody. 

“I can’t; but you’ll spoil my 
garden,” moaned Budd. 

At that moment four or five pistol shots startled that portion 
of the neighborhood which had not been roused up to that time. 

“ Murder !” shouted several. 

More pistol shots from other directions. 

More murder and screaming from various directions. Fifty 
dogs barking in the neighborhood. 

By this time the cats concluded that they were attracting too 
much attention, and began to scatter. One of them failed tc^. 
scatter, however, for a bullet had scattered him, and he was 
doing his best to destroy the few remaining strawberry plants 
in Budd’s bed by putting in a few energetic ante mortem kicks. 

In an hour more, peace and quietude reigned in that neigh- 
borhood, and the warriors were all scattered about, repairing 
damages and coaxing their backs down. 

But Mrs. Budd’s back was not got down quite so easily. She 
was mad, and demanded of her husband that he set traps for or 
poison those dreadful felines beyond the possibility of their 
ever disturbing the neighborhood, menacing her chickens or de- 
stroying the garden again. 

Budd promised to do so, and he tried it ; but alas ! the cats 
escaped, and his wife’s chickens all went under, poisoned by the 
meat left for the cats. 

Was Mrs. Budd mad ? 



The result of attempting 

TO POISON THE TORMENTING 

. CATS. Mrs. Budd’s chick- 
ens COME TO GRIEF INSTEAD. 


FARMING FOE FUN. 


27 



Mrs. Budd proceeds to enlighten her husband with a 

LARGE PIECE OF HER MIND, REGARDING HIS SAGACITY AND GEN- 
ERAL BUSINESS QUALIFICATIONS. CONSIDERING ALL THAT HAS 
LATELY HAPPENED, Mr. BuDD HAS NOTHING TO SAY. 

Was Mr. Budd sorry? 

Botli questions may be answered in tbe affirmative. 

Mrs. Budd Avent down to feed ber cackling and crowing dar- 
lings tbe next morning, and found tbe whole lot with tbeir toes 
turned up. 


28 


FARMING FOE FUN. 


Well, she knew what ailed them, and she went right in to 
where Budd sat and told him what the matter was with her. 
She had a tongue and she used it, while her husband looked 
sorry and ventured no particular reply. 

“ Why don’t you manifest some feeling ?” she asked, rising 
and facing him. 

“ I’m Sony,” he murmured, abstractedly. 

“Yes, you look sorry,” and here her irony came in. “I be- 
lieve you did it on purpose,” she screamed, and unable to con- 
trol herself any longer she let down her back hair and began to 
cry. 

Budd went out and dug a hole by the roots of his grape 
vine and buried his wife’s poultry out of sight, after which he 
went down town to business. 

It was several days before they were on speaking terms again. 
She pouted and stayed with her mother one night, and pouted 
and stayed with her husband for the next few nights. 

But he touched her heart by bringing her home a pair of 
pouter pigeons and some nice well-dressed chickens for dinner ; 
and so in time things smiled again, and the dilapidated garden 
and pouting wife began to look nice once more. 

But Budd was unfortunate nearly all the time, although he 
done his best to be a good family man and first-class Granger. 

While wetting his farm with the hose one evening, he took 
it into his head to turn the stream up to his wife’s window gar- 
den, thinking to please her by so doing. 

But alas ! being a trifle near-sighted, he did not see that the 
sash was up, but it was, and Mrs. Budd’s favorite canary hung 
there and received the bulk of that stream. 

Mrs. Budd screamed and made a dive for the window, but 
ducked under to avoid the ducking, and vowed to poison her 
fool of a husband. 

After he had wet the carpet and furniture, including the 


FAEMING FOR FUN. 


29 



Mr. Budd attempts to do a little act of kindness by -water- 
ing HIS wife’s window plants with his garden hose, but 

NOTSEEING THE OPEN WINDOW, HE WETS OTHER THINGS, AND 
OBLIGES HIS WIFE TO “ DUCK ” IN ORDER TO AVOID A DUCKING. 

matrimcnial couch, he turned the stream in another direction, 
at "which she seized a large flower-pot and hurled it at his head 
and shut the window down, let down her hair (as she always 
did under a heavy pressure of emotion) and began to change 
her clothing. 

The flower-pot struck Budd on the back and knocked him 
sprawling. He instantly thought that the stream of water had 
done the mischief, and began to study up excuses and apologies 
for -what he had done, knowing how mad his wife would be 
about it. 

Well he "was right about her being mad, but he was wrong 


30 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


about the cause. And Biddy was mad about it, too, and said 
she wouldn’t marry a Granger if he was the last man in the 
world. 

But such little things will happen in the best families, and 
of course, Budd could not hope to escape it. Yet the storm 
blew over, as other storms had blown by, and again everything 
was lovely and sunshiny. 

Budd prospered after a fashion with his farm, and at the 
earnest recommendation of an agent, he bought half a dozen 
fancy hens — Shanghais — and gave his whole attention to their 
development. 

This pleased Mrs. Budd for a few days ; but when the Shang- 
hai rooster took it into his head to eat one of her pretty doves 
for lunch, then she gave Budd some more of her mind, and he 
sneaked out of the house ana went to his business, feeling as 
though life was a failure, and raising fancy breeds of hens a 
grievous burden. 

But Budd learned soon after that it was not worth half so 
much trouble to raise fancy breeds of hens as he had lavished 
upon them, and he was taught the lesson by a boy who lived 
on Thirty-third street, directly back of his house. 

This boy was a genius. He will probably make even more 
noise in the world than he made in illustrating to Budd how 
easily a Shanghai rooster could be raised. He may yet become 
a whisky distiller in some one of our prisons. 

But this is how the boy showed what an easy thing it is to 
raise fancy fowls. 

The boy had a fish-hook and line. He baited that hook with 
a kernel of corn, and then taking a ladder, he placed it against 
the home side of the extra high fence which Budd had built to 
keep out boys and cats, and mounting that ladder he threw the 
baited hook before those fancy hens and waited the result. 

Budd heard a cackle of distress, and looking out he saw his 


=' 


FARMESTG FOB FTTN. 


31 


splendid great rooster going up the side of 
the fence, fluttering and cackling like 
mad. 

What induced the rooster to act in this 
mysterious and undignifled manner he had 
no idea of, but feeling sure that something 
was wrong, he rushed out of the house to 
see about it. 

When he reached the yard the rooster 
was nowhere to be seen or heard. He was 
completely dumbfounded, and tapped his 
brain-box several times, as if to assure him- 
self that he was awake. Then he wonder 
ed if he hadn’t a touch of the New York 
Jim-jams, and he counted his flock to see 
that the rooster was actually missing. 

Yes, it was gone, or he was, and he be' 
gan to fear that he was ; that overwork was 
telling on him. So he went in and told 
Melinda that he thought he was going to 
be sick. 

She had not yet recovered from the loss 
of her dove, and so she gave him some 
short reply of a sarcastic nature, and he 
concluded to doctor himself and get solace 
at the same time out of a certain bottle. 

Day after day one of those fancy hens 
was raised over that high fence and in- 
stantly disappeared, no one, on Budd’s 
side, knew where. But the singular ease 
with which hens could be raised in the 
city was nicely demonstrated. 


The way they “raise” fancy 

BREEDS OF HENS IN THE CITY. 


32 


FARMING FOR FTTN. 


Budd was dazed. He never attempted to find out where his 
hens went to or what caused them to go ; he almost began to 
doubt whether he ever had any hens or not. So to avoid a spell 
of brain fever he gave up the idea of taking the first premium 
at the next hen-opera (why not a hen-show a hen-opera ? It is 
a place of many lays, isn’t it ?) and tuimed the light of his 
genius upon his early potatoes. 

They weren’t quite so early as they should have been, and he 
concluded it was because they had been slighted. And they 
were grafted potatoes, too, warranted to make the potato bugs 
sick at the first attack. 

But he was destined to learn that they were very early po- 
tatoes after all, for by the assistance of some outsider they came 
up over his fence very early one morning, every one he had. 

Budd visited his potato hills the next morning and found 
them potatoless valleys. He never felt quite certain about their 
disappearance, but concluded that they must have been attack- 
ed by a detachment of potato bugs. 

Up to this point I have said nothing about Budd’s relations, 
or rather, his wife’s relations ; but as they are to figure some- 
what in this story, and whereas we have become pretty well 
acquainted with his style of farming, together with his haps 
and mishaps, perhaps it would be as well to introduce them 
here, and allow Budd’s farm to run itself until autumn. 

Budd’s wife’s uncle. Dr. Doremus Puddle, was a great scientist. 
He lived on an experimental farm a short distance out on Long 
Island, and wrote long articles for the papers on the domestic 
habits of grub worms and potato bugs, and the out-door nature 
of the yellow pumpkin. He also delivered lectures on the best 
methods for curing pip in chickens, and the philosophy of plant- 
ing cats around the roots of grape-vines. So when he heard 
that Budd had become a Granger and was experimenting with 
nature in his back yard, he concluded to pay him a visit, and 
vaccinate him with a little of his knowledge. 


33 



He dawned upon Budd 
one morning, and at once 
began to educate bim. He 
went tbrougb that little 
farm, explaining everything 
with which he came in con- 
tact, but never discovered 
that his relation had done 
anything wrong. He sim 
ply contended that Budd 
needed more agricultural 
knowledge of a scientific 
nature. 

Of course, Budd listened 
to his learned relative, and 
agreed with everything he 
said on any subject. How 
could he do othervdse ? W as 
not Dr. Puddle the great au- 
thority on everything relat- 
ing to everything ? 

Then Puddle got him up 
in a corner and began to 
pump him full of knowledge 
after this fashion : 

“Take, for instance, the 
common white bean, known 
among us scientists as Faha 
major. It is very important 
that the cultivator should 
ascertain the amount of juv- 
inum and advalorum con- 
tained in the altitudinum of 


Mr Budd’s early potatoes come up (over 

THE GARDEN FENCE, AS ABOVE,) VERY 

“ early” one morning. 


34 


FARMING FOB FUN. 


the cobanginous stratum of the ripabus, otherwise known as 
mould, see ?” 

“ Yes, certainly,” replied Budd ; I have always contended that 
it should be so.” 

j “ Then for the matter of agitatus fertilizabus. This should 
" always be proportioned to the continuity of the tendrilacious 
inclination. Anything short of such a juxtaposition of these 
unities will be sure to develop an anti-podity that will tend 
to disappoint the scientific cultivator at the period of general 
ripening.” 

“Yes, I think so,” replied Budd, gasping for breath. 

“Again, let us examine into the scientific relations of the red 
beet, called by the learned, Beta Cicla. The Beta requires a 
subsoilicity of embedment, that is of a mellow nature, else the 
bulba is forced to the sui-face and fails to receive its quota of 
sabibus nutribus, and in consequence, the interior cells become 
abnormally vacuated, and the oxygen to which it is exposed 
enters its cellarious construction, and the result is a spongidity 
of condition which makes its commercial value non est, and its 
palpability to the cells of the tongue a disappointment and » 
lapsus intend!.” 

“ Oh, lord !” moaned Budd. 

“You see now the value of scientific knowledge.” 

“Yes. If I had known as much as you do. Doctor, I should 
never have attempted to raise beans or beets.” 

“ Undoubtedly. But remember one thing : it is never too 
late to learn. Why, I revel in science ; I make it subservient 
to all my doings. Why, not long since I set my man to shoot 
the robins that destroyed my plums and fruit, but he, poor, ig- 
norant fellow, he could not get near enough to kill them, and 
so I showed him what a little science would do. He managed 
to kill two robins, and the others took warning and kept out of 
range. So I had those birds stuffed, and placed one on his hat 
and one upon my own. This reassured -the robins when we 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


35 



Budd’s -wife’s uncle, the learned Dr. Doremus Puddle, as 

HE APPEARED AT HIS EXPERIMENTAL FARM. 

went out into tlie orchard, and they came around as fast as we 
could load and fire.” 

“Very ingenious,” said Budd. 

By the way, that learned Doctor neglected to state that his 
man mistook the stuffed bird on his hat for one that was trying 
to stuff himself with cherries, and so let go a char^ of shot 
which ruined the Doctor’s hat and chipped off a piece oi his ear. 
No, he never mentioned that occurrence. 



36 


VARMIKG FOR FUN. 


“But, Budd, I take great interest in you. I am proud t>> 
know that the husband of my niece is ambitious to shine as an 
sxperimental agriculturist. Keep on. Come and see me when- 
ever you need information on any subject, and I will make it 
clear as noonday to you.” 

“ Thanks,” said Budd ; and then suddenly starting up he 
thought of a subject on which he would like a little enlighten- 
ment just then. 



ROBINS IN HIS OROHARI). 



FAEMLNG FOK FUN. 


37 



Budd eetubns with a sack of De. Puddle’s “ Iivipalpalacious 

WOEEIMENT,” FOE THE BENEFIT OP HIS GAEDEN SASS. 

“ One question, Doctor, while I think of it. The other night 
my early potatoes were looking splendidly. When I went out 
the next morning the ground appeared to be freshly turned, 
and only the tops of my potatoes remained. Now, what was 
the cause of that, think you ?” 

“Ah, the augerous uprootabus bugabus, without doubt. I 
have known them to go through whole fields of potatoes in a 
single night.” 

“ You mean — that is to say, potato bugs ?” 

“ Exactly. For further particulars read my comj^e treatise 
on the nature and extermination of this pest, to be found in 


S8 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


every complete library. And, by the bye, if you will come out 
to my farm I will give you a sack of my Impalpalacious Wor- 
riment ; sure death to this terrible pest. In fact, a little of it 
sprinkled on the soil will keep them forever away.” 

“ I will go out and get some for the benefit of my other gar- 
den truck,” said Budd, eagerly. 

“You will thereby show your wisdom.” 

Budd could not help believing what his learned relation had 
told him, although he didn’t understand a word of it ; but at 
all events he resolved to pay the Doctor a visit, and get a sack 
of that Impalpalacious Worriment, and he did so, returning 
nearly crazy with what he had learned about vegetation and 
raising things. 

The “Worriment” was harmless, so far as his vegetation was 
concerned, for it did not appear to kill anything ; and as for 
bugs, Budd came to the conclusion that they had finished their 
yearly work and passed to the next garden before he got the 
infallible Worriment at work upon them. 

Then Budd’s wife’s mother had an uncle that paid them a 
visit. He was a Dutchman and didn’t pretend to scientific 
knowledge of any kind. He enjoyed his long pipe and good 
stories the most of anything. 

There was only one objection to his inclination to tell funny 
stories : he had a habit of telling the same story over three or 
four times a day, forgetting that he had told it before. This 
would pass as a novelty for a week or so, and might perhaps be 
called an eccentricity during the second week of its continuance, 
but to keep it up right along was apt to be felt as monotonous. 

This particular story was related as something that happened 
to himself, and was intended as a severe satire on milkmen. It 
jrun as follows : 

“ Dat ish how it vas, don’t you see ?” And then he would 
take three or four pulls at his pipe. “You see dot I had a cat. 


FARMING FOB FUN. 


39 


und dot cat she vas neffer weaned pooty goot, I dinks, for she 
loaf ter milk so well, don’d you see ?” 

More pulls at his pipe. 

“Veil, von morning dot cat she go mit me oud ter valk unt 
shmoke mine pipe, unt she skipped along unt fiut a powl of 
milk settin’ ont a vinder sill, unt she make herself acquainted 
mit dot milk, don’d you see ?” 

More smoke ; seemingly in no hurry. 

“ Val, py unt py, preddy quick almost ash lightning dot man 
vot bay for dot milk he come oud mit a boot-John unt he strike 
dot cat, unt don’d hit her, I guess nod. So, py tarn, dot cat she 
runt avay all right.” 

“ ‘ Pees dot your cat V say ter man, so mat. 

“‘Yaw, dot ish mine cat,’ I say. 

“‘Val, ter tuyflish shlutt, she trink mine milk,’ say dot man, 
unt den I laugh. Unt den he vas mat some more, unt say — 

“ ‘ Your cat she eat mine milk.’ 

“ ‘ Val,’ I say, ‘ I hope it von’t Mcrt ter poor ding,’ unt den, py 
jinks, he vas chust so mat agin dot he danced oud ter top of his 
het. Ha ! ha 1 ha !” 

The reader will observe that the laugh comes in at this point. 
But it can readily be understood how many times a person could 
laugh at this same story. 

But Budd’s wife’s mother’s uncle did not remain more than 
a week or two after he wasn’t wanted, and again Budd was left 
alone, and had a chance to work out some of Dr. Puddle’s ideas 
in his back-yard farm. 

He didn’t wish to bore the Doctor who had been so kind to 
him, but he yearned to read his treatise on the Augerous Up- 
rootahus. 

So he began the rounds of the book-stores, and made inquiries 
for it. But they all shook their heads and said they had never 
heara of it. 


40 


FARMING FOB FUN. 


Then he began to visit the libraries and to bore the librarians 
about that treatise. But they all shook their heads and said 
that there was nothing on their catalogues bearing that name. 

But, come to think of it, being a ponderous, high-toned sub- 
ject, on abstruse art or something of that kind, he concluded 
after all that he would be more likely to find it at the den of 
some Bibliopolist — those old book-worms who take up whatever 
nobody understands. He found one of these Bibliomaniacs on 
Nassau street, and tried him. 

These old fellows don’t move very fast, and Budd was told 
to come again in a few days and he would receive an answer. 
In the meantime the old book-worm called in one of his learned 
brothers, and together they went through their shelves and cat- 
alogues, but, alas ! without finding the desired work. 

This was too much. That a book with such a high-sounding 
title could not be found, drove them both to madness, and they 
commenced to bang each other over the head with musty and 
forgotten tomes, and to call each other Jackasses and ignoramuses. 

And that is how it served those to whom he made his last 
appeal. And when Budd went into the old bookstore to get 
his answer regarding the work and found these learned brothers 
still banging away at each other, he became disgusted with so 
much learning and left them to fight it out. 

He was gradually beginning to see that he was making an 
ass of himself in departing from the simple path of common 
sense, and what he had learned and could learn by experience. 

The papers were full of the reports of agricultural and cattle 
shows, and Budd said to Mrs. Budd : 

“ My love, let us go to a regular cattle show.” 

“ What do we care about cattle, Tim ?” 

“ Well, perhaps nothing ; but they have all kinds of splendid 
fowls and fruits, and flowers and garden vegetables ; I think we 
should enjoy it.” 


FAEMING FOE FltN, 


41 



The above is an illusteation of Budd’s wife’s mothee’s 
uncle’s stoey about his joke on the milkmen. 


“ Pertaps we should,” remarked Melinda, softly. 

“ The Grangers will be there in great numbers, and you can 
see what real nice people they are.” 

‘‘Are they all as nice as you are, Tim ?” 

“Yes, I guess they are.” 

“And do they know as much about farming ?” 


42 


FAEJUNG FOE FUN. 


“Well, I don’t know, but probably they do. But never 
mind, let us go.” 

And go they did, out into the country a few miles, where 
they found a crowd of people from the surrounding section 
and the city, all mixed up in the most confused sort of a way, 
with cattle, swine, fowls, vegetables, and all the various etcet- 
eras of a country cat^e show. 

It was new to both Budd and his wife, and they took to it 
right away. Budd, being the most practical farmer of the two, 
acted as conductor and instructor as they picked and twisted 
their way through the crowd surrounding the pens and stands. 

At length they stopped before a pig-pen in which was a little 
fat, curly-tailed grunter, so fat, in fact, that he could not stand 
upon his legs, and, seen “ stem on,” would have puzzled wiser 
Grangers than Mr. and Mrs. Budd to say at first glance just 
what it was. 

“ Dear me l what is that, Tim ?” she asked, pointing to the fat 
little porker. 

“ That ? Why, that is — is a — a rootabaga squash, my dear. 
Don’t you see the stem ?” he added, pointing to the pig’s curly tail. 

“ Lordy, yes ; how ignorant I am,” humbly mused Mrs. Budd. 

As they moved away they failed to observe the broad grin 
that overspread the bronzed mugs of several Grangers who 
stood about the pig-pen. 

They plunged deeply into the festivities of the cattle show, 
and, in fact, took it all in and were delighted. 

Mrs. Budd had never attended a fair of this kind before, and 
she actually tired her husband out, and he sat down while she 
continued on and was soon lost to sight. But he knew she 
could take care of herself anywhere. 

Budd began to rest his anatomy, when a pedlar of fancy soaps 
fq)proached, thrust the stakes of his little table into the ground 
within a few feet of him, and began to “ hold forth.” 


FAKMING FOR FUN. 


43 



A PAIR OF Bibliomaniacs whom Budd started to hunt up 

THE WORK OF HIS LEARNED WIFe’s UNCLE, ON THE NATURE, HABITS 
AND UTTER EXTERMINATION OF THE “AUGEROUS IJp BOOT ABUS.” 

Budd expected a crowd to follow, but, to bis astonisbment, 
not a soul followed tbe itinerant. They bad probably been bored 
witb bim quite enough, and gladly left bim alone. Besides, 
there was a Punch and Judy show, a learned pig, a dancing 
rooster, snake charmer, talking cow, and several other entertain- 
ments of like nature which absorbed general attention and left 
the poor soap man entirely out in the cold. 

But he was determined to be heard, if he didn’t sell a cake. 




44 


FAR.MING FOR FUN. 


He was bound to talk if be could only get a single person to 
address. So he began to address himself to Budd, treating him 
as though he was a crowd. 

“ My dear Christian friends, we are enjoined by the Scrip- 
tures to wash and be clean, but how are Ave to do so without 
soap ? This, my friends, is an original discovery of mine ; I am 
the great and only original New England soap man. My fame 
is borne on the four wings of heaven, each gust of which also 
bears the perfumes of my soap. 

“I contend that I have performed a wonderful feat — a feat 
that should entitle me to canonizing, since I have discovered a 
way whereby men may obey a Scriptural injunction. My soap 
not only enables mankind to wash and be clean, but it removes 
tan, freckles, corns, chapped hands and lips, boils, pimples, gray 
hair, premature age, cures nervousness and gout, and, in short, 
is a sovereign remedy for all the ills that flesh is heir to. 

“And, my friends,” he continued, “ I have still further laid 
humanity under obligation to me by building this soap so that 
it can be sold at the astonishingly low price of twenty five cents 
per cake. Now, gentlemen, come and see me !” he added, hold- 
ing up a box of his soap. 

“ Gentlemen ” didn’t respond very much. 

“Have a cake, sir ?” he ad fled, approaching Budd. 

“ Hey ?” asked Budd, in well supplied wonder. 

“ Have a cake of this wonderful soap ?” 

“ Write on a slate what you want ; I am deaf,” said he. 

“ Thunder and blazes !” (he talked stronger than that, dear 
reader, but in a country of general information and education the 
subject can be done justice to by those who can imagine them- 
selves in his place.) Have I been wasting all this gas over a 
deaf galloot ? But maybe I can stick him on a cake of this 
stuff,” he added, writing the price and an abstract of its merits 
on a piece of paper and handing it to Budd. 


FARMING FOE FTTN. 


45 



Mr. and Mrs. Btjdd at the Cattle Show. 

Mrs. B . — Dear me ! what is that, Tim ? 

Mr. B. — That % Why, that is — is a — a rootabaga squash. 
See the stem ? 

Mrs. B. — Lordy, yes ! How ignorant I am ! 

“ Oh, soap for sale, eh ? Good ! I want some soap,” and 
thinking he had enjoyed a quarter’s worth of fun out of the old 
fellow, he bought the cake. 

“Ah, you old snoozer,” said the pedlar, as he took the money, 
“ I haven’t lost much on you, after all. Only cost me two cents, 
and it’s the worst old mush you ever saw, you cussed old wood- 
en head !” 

It will readily be understood that the pedlar wes getting rid 
of his accumulated indignation, and, thinking that he was talk- 
ing to a deaf man, he had no fears of what might follow. 


16 


FARMING FOB FUN. 


On the other hand, it will be seen that Budd had been en- 
joying a little joke with the pedlar, but wh^n he came to free 
his mind in this way, Budd concluded that he hadn’t had so 
much fun, after all. 

But he smothered his indignation, and, leaping to his feet, 
suddenly remembered that he had been absent from his wife 
quite a while. Where was she ? He started at once to ascer- 
tain. 

“ Melinda !” he murmured, as he darted here and there in the 
crowd, looking for his lost mate. 

But he could find her nowhere. Had she got lost, or had he ? 
Had she eloped with somebody, or had he ? Like a lost sheep 
he wandered anxiously about, even to the outskirts of the show, 
but Melinda was nowhere to be found. 

While fooling around in this way, he got into a large sheep 
pen without knowing it ; in fact, he didn’t know anything, only 
that he had lost his Melinda. 

“ Melinda !” he cried, “ where on earth are you ?” 

At that instant an old ram poised himself and came down 
upon the deserted husband with a whack just below his coat- 
tail which sent him sprawling upon the ground. 

“ Melinda !” he moaned, getting up on all fours, “ you needn’t 
get so mad about it ; I didn’t mean to lose you.” 

The ram saw another elegant opportunity while our hero was 
on all fours, and he again butted him over upon the ground, at 
which the crowd, which had gathered to see the gratuitous ex- 
hibition, roared with delight. 

Budd began to comprehend the situation, and he started to 
get out of that pen quicker than this one can write it. But the 
old ram, who evidently looked upon Budd as an interloper, 
gave him great trouble, administering several good whacks as 
he retreated. At last he opened his big umbrella and managed 
to keep the ram at bay, and so escaped. 


FARMING FOB FTJN. 


47 



Another cattle show incident. While looking for his 
LOST Melinda, Mr. Budd gets into the sheep pen, and the 
OLD RAM salutes HIM. 


His wife had been attracted by the crowd, and she was out- 
side of the pen to receive him. 

“You are a healthy Granger, aren’t you?” she sneered. 

“ Why, Melinda, I was looking for you,” he whimpered. 

“ Looking for me in a sheep pen, eh 1 Let’s go home. I 
have had all the cattle show I want.” 

“ So have I, Melinda. Gracious ! how that rascally sheep did 
bite me.” 

“ Bite ! why, it was a ram, and he butted you,” said his wife, 
as they struggled out of the crowd. 

Budd was only too glad to reach the depot and return to 


48 


FARMING FOB FUN. 


New York. But after the ridiculousness of his adventure came 
fully upon him he agreed to buy his wife a new silk dress if 
she would promise never to mention it. 

On arriving home they found Grandfather Budd there await- 
ing their return. The old gentleman had not made them a 
visit before since they had got settled in their new house, and 
consequently both son and daughter were very glad to see him. 

The old man was as deaf as a pump, and carried a huge ear- 
trumpet around with him, thrusting it into everybody’s face 
who chanced to pucker their mouth as though wishing to speak 
to him. 

He was really a comical old cuss, and created much amuse- 
ment in the neighborhood with his huge tin trumpet. He would 
elevate it whenever he saw the slightest commotion anywhere. 

But he was a good gardener, and spent the greater portion of 
his time trying to make something out of his son’s back-yard 
farm, and, after a week or so, managed to get it into something 
like rational shape. 

He was working there early one morning, when the milkman 
began to yell at the gate and to kick it as though a part of his 
duty to his customers consisted in knocking down their outer 
barricades. 

“ Eh ! what’s that ?” queried the old man. 

Again the milkman yelled like an Indian. Biddy had not 
yet come down stairs. 

“ Hey ?” shouted the old Granger, elevating his trumpet. 

“ Milk ! hey ! ho ! he !” 

Budd Sr. could hardly understand what was wanted. He 
suspected that a gang of robbers might be outside, so he ap- 
proached the gate on the inside and elevated his huge hearing 
apparatus so that it came above the top of the gate. 

“ Hey ?” he shouted again. 

“ Milk ! Hurry up ! What’s the matter wid youse ?” 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


49 



A HOWLING MILKMAN APPROAOHFS BuDd’s OUTER GATE. 

“ Deaf,” replied the old fellow, catching the last question all 
right enough. 

“ What ?” yelled the chalk-and- water fiend. 

“ In here !” replied old Budd, elevating his trumpet still 
higher, and meaning to have him speak his wants into its boss 
end. 

“ Why didn’t yer say so before replied the man, turning 
two quarts of milk into the mouth of the trumpet and going 
away about his business. 

Was old Budd surprised ? Was old Budd mad? Was old 
Budd inclined to cuss ? and, finally, was his auricular apparatus 


50 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


squirted full of milk ? Well, you bet, it would be safe to say 
yes to all these questions. 

He danced around like a chap with a bumblebee in bis 
trowsers. He slipped up, and, while on his back flourishing his 
huge ear-trumpet as though it was a tomahawk and he was swing- 
ing it at some approaching foe, he called loudly on high heaven 
to show him the man that squirted him full of whitewash. 

Biddy made her appearance and ran to the old man’s as- 
sistance. 



Bunn Sr., while at work in his son’s garden, hears some- 
thing OF THE ROW that THE MILKMAN IS MAKING, AND ELEVATES 
HIS TRUMPET TO HEAR WHAT IT IS. 


FARMING FOR FUN, 


61 



Approaching th e gate, he elevates his trumpet still 

HIGHER, AND DEMANDS TO KNOW WHAT THE ROW IS ALL ABOUT, 
WHEN THE MILKMAN, MISTAKING IT FOR A DISH, EMPTIES TWO 
QUARTS OF MILK THEREIN, GREATLY TO THE DISGUST AND ALARM 
OF THE ELDER BuDD. 

She knew it would do no good to ask him what the matter 
was unless she did so through his horn, and she could not ap- 
proach that without endangering her life. He appeared blind- 
ed by milk, and still keeping his eyes closed and his feet and 
hands agoing while prone upon his back, Biddy naturally con- 
cluded that he had run mad or was possessed of the devil. 

“ Faith, if it’s the hyhdrafoby he has, a squirt of wather will 



52 


FaKMING for fun. 


do him good.” So she turned on the water, and taking the 
garden hose she began to play upon the old man. 

Then he got up real quick, and, diving in her direction, he 
began to play upon her with his hearing trumpet, whereat she 
dropped the hose and ran into the house to alarm the boss. 

“ I thought so,” howled old Budd ; “ she did it, and I got the 
first squirt directly in my ear-trumpet. I always knew the Irish 
would ruin this country. Where is she ? Let me at her !” 

He was on the point of battening down the bolted door when 
his son appeared and demanded an explanation. 

His father attempted to tell him all about it ; how that ras- 
cally Irish girl had been squirting water into and over him, but 
the whole story was cut short by a neighbor who was looking 
out of his window and saw the whole affair, but who had been 
laughing so ever since that he could not speak. 

Old Budd would not accept such an explanation, and because 
his son Timbthy and daughter Melinda joined with that neigh- 
bor in laughing over the affair, he got his coat collar up, pro- 
ceeded to tie up his blue cotton umbrella, pack up his valise 
and start for up home, where more respect was shown aged 
persons. 

About this time Mrs. Budd became disgusted with things at 
home, especially the thermometer, that carried on so high, and 
she resolved to spend the remainder of the season at Newport. 

Budd didn’t like the idea. She was too good looking a 
wmman, he said, to go off and leave her husband at home alone 
and run all the risks of watering-place flirtations, but she was 
determined to go. 

Then he tried to show her the duty which, devolved upon 
the wife of a Granger, but she cnly laughed, and said he was a 
dear, jealous old noodle. 

Well, the upshot was, she up and went. 

And Budd began to wilt, and to lose all interest in his farm. 


FAEMING FOE FUN. 


53 



Mes. Btjdd insists upon going to Newpoet foe the eemain- 

DEE OF THE SEASON, GEEATLT TO HEE HUSBANd’s DISGUST, AND HE 
PEOCEEDS TO LECTUEE HEE ON THE DUTIES 'WHICH BELONG TO THE 
WIFE OF A GeANGEE. It IS NOT A SUCCESS. 

Before she had been gone, a week he had ■written her three let- 
ters, and wept salt tears all over his farm. 

He began to stay out late nights and to attend places of 
amusement. He also drank somewhat heavily, for he was de- 
termined to show Melinda that she was driving him to ruin by 
her heartless conduct. 



54 


FABMINa FOB FUN. 


But Biddy Avasn’t being driven to ruin any. Slie didn’t sbed 
any teai-s of regret at tlie absence of both master and mistress. 
On the contrary, she used to get up little parties by inviting 
her friends and cousins,” and giving them handsome little 
suppers. 

In the meantime Budd put up a job on the tender suscepti- 
bilities of his wife, by employing a mutual friend to go to New- 
port and tell her that he was fast going to the bad ; that unless 
she returned at once it would be too late, and he would be ir- 
redeemably lost to her and her friends. 

It had the desired effect. The friend telegraphed to him from 
Newport that she was coming home by rail that night, and, to 
carry out his part of the programme, he went off and got as 
drunk as a boiled owl, returning home at about ten o’clock, the 
hour she would probably arrive. 

It was one of Biddy’s reception nights, it so happened, and, 
not expecting him home before past midnight, she had lighted 
up the parlors, and her friends were having a lively contra 
dance, at the suggestive music of the piano which one of the 
company could play after a fashion, and things looked lively 
when the master of the house staggered in. 

He was just in the right mood for such a scene as met his 
eyes, and the party were in the right mood to accept him on any 
terms. So he gave a wild imitation Irish whoop, seized Biddy 
from her partner, and began a regular breakdown with her 
I This'*pleased all hands, and all feet were soon engaged in the 
same business. If that carpet was never dusted before it got it 


FABMING FOB FUN. 


55 


then. Wilder and wilder grew the sport, louder and louder 
grew the shouts, until the whole neighborhood was aroused, and 
had its heads out of the windows to learn what the matter was. 

At this festive juncture Mrs. Budd opened the front door 
and came upon the scene. 

The strapping youth from whom Budd had taken Biddy, not 
knowing Mrs. Budd and thinking her another one of the party,” 
seized her with a yell of delight and attempted to drag her into 
the dance. 

She thrust the point of her parasol into his ear and screamed. 

Then there was gathering in hot haste. Yes, but the gather- 
ing was gathering to get out of that, as may well be imagined. 

Poor Budd ! What pen shall describe his looks and feelings ? 

He had overdone the matter, and he felt so foolish that he 
went out at the back door and butted his head against a post. 

Mrs. Budd, after screaming, proceeded to faint, and then she 
raved and went into the kitchen to find the potato-masher. 
Budd suspected that she didn’t want to mash potatoes with it 
at that time of night, so he went out at the back gate and passed 
the remainder of the night at a hotel. 

Budd returned to his castle by degrees during the next three 
days. He thought it not prudent to do so all at once. 

When he finally reached his home he found a new and 
plainer looking servant girl, and his wife with a wet towel 
around her head and fire in her eye. Bud looked around for 
the potato-masher, but not seeing it he ventured to speak to her. 

She turned and frowned upon him, and he went out right 
away to see how his garden was getting along. 


56 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


It took a full week for Budd to get on speaking terms again 
witk kis wife, and still another week to get a fair chance for an 
explanation. But it was a season of penance which did them 
both good, and they felt all the better after it. 

Time heals all wounds. The farm began to bloom again 
or rather to look as though there was somebody at home, and 
Budd looked earnestly to see what the signs of promise were. 

These signs weren’t very plentiful, and he looked blue. 
And he felt as a chap does who goes fishing and don’t get any- 
thing, and at the same time wants to carry something home. So 
he resolved to fool his wife by buying enough at the grocery 
store to make a respectable crop of the different varieties. 

One day a tramp came to the house and asked for him. Budd 
dawned upon him with curiosity. 

“ I understand you are a Granger,” said the tramp. 

‘‘Yes; why?” 

“ I am also a Granger.” 

“ Oh, you are, eh ? Well, what do you want ?” 

“ I came to see if I couldn’t let myself to you for the purpose 
of doing your harvesting.” 

Budd looked at the man a moment in surprise. 

“Would you like to see my farm ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Come right this way,” replied Budd, leading the way from 
the basement door to the rear piazza. “ There, that is my farm ; 
does it occur to you that I need anybody to assist me in gather- 
ing my crops.” 

“ Is that all ?” 


FARMING FOR FUN. 





The tramp who wished to hire himself out to Granger Budd, 

TO GATHER HIS CROPS. 

“That is all.” 

The tramp looked up to his brother Granger with a tear in 
eacb eye, and held out his hand. 

“ Good-bye, my friend ; I tbink some wretch has been trifling 
with my needs. I was told that you were a Granger and had 
crops to get in. Alas !” 

“ My dear sir, I suspect that you could eat all that I have to 
gather on this farm of mine. Here, take this and go and buy a 
square meal.” 


68 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


Shaking hands with his brother Granger, he escorted him 
from the house. 

Time went on and Autumn came. It was now time for the 
eailh to yield her fruit. Budd took a hoe and called on his 
piece of earth to ante up, but it didn’t, in the shape of potatoes, 
to any great extent. 

He found one or two, however, about the size of walnuts, 
and, resolving to astonish Melinda and make her ashamed of 
her flower-beds, he stole out of the side gate and went to the 
grocery store where he bought a peck of flne looking potatoes, 
and transferred them slyly to the spot where he had been 
vainly digging. 

The success of his strategy was almost complete when Me- 
linda, who had been watching him through the blinds, threw 
them open and began to laugh at him. 

This was a sad blow, and made Budd feel as though he had 
been unexpectedly cut off in the will of soipe rich relation. 

“ Don’t try to fool me, Timothy,” she said, again laughing at 
her husband’s discomfiture. 

Budd bowed his head and pretended his ears were not good. 

Day after day, as the different products came to a full stop 
and looked as though they wanted to be taken in, did Timothy 
Budd gather the fruits of his labors, and as fast as he gathered 
them his wife would pin them up against the wall. 

On a bit of paper beneath the two little nubbins which he 
had dug out of the ground she wrote, “ These are Potatoes,” and 
“This is Com;” “Budd’s Beets;” “Tim’s Beans;” “Granger 
Turnips,” <fec. &c. 

It provoked the poor Granger dreadfully to have her make 
so much fun of his raisings, but by and by he began to figure 
up the cost and to comprehend the fact that each and every 
article which he had raised had cost him at least twenty-five 


FARMING FOR FUN. 


59 



dollars. At all events, twenty-five cents would have purchased 
more than he had raised. 

Of course, she laughed at him. Where is the loving wife 
who would not have done so ? She knew that it would do him 
good to ridicule him and she kept it up like a heroine. 

Finally Budd solaced himself with the fact that he had had 
lots of fun with his farming, and on that score resolved to cry 
quits, sell his tools, allow his wife to have the whole for a flower 

garden next year, and let the Grangers quietly to go to ^^to 

keep right on in their good work. 

And this is what we call 

Farming fob Fun. 



COLLIN & SMALL, 

Publishers, 

No. 113 Fulton Street, 

F/IW ¥OEE. 





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